Again she turned to gaze at me. “Hajime,” she said after a while. “When I look at you driving, sometimes I want to grab the steering wheel and give it a yank. It’d kill us, wouldn’t it.” “We’d die, all right. We’re going eighty miles an hour.” “You’d rather not die with me?” “I can think of more pleasant ways to go.” I laughed. “And besides, we haven’t listened to the record yet. That’s the reason we’re here, right?” “Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t do anything like that. The thought just crosses my mind from time to time.”
